To Mother A Marauder
by Sable Supernova
Summary: Four boys, brought into a brotherhood by circumstance, all with very different mothers. One-shot series. Complete.
1. The Son She Made Up

**Written for:  
Mother's Day Event** at Hogwarts  
 **Words:** 720  
 **AN:** This piece may be submitted to further challenges and competitions retrospectively. Unfortunately, I don't have the time to work through this piece now before the Mother's Day event deadline.

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 **The Son She Made Up**

 _April, 1977_

Remus woke up knowing it was his last few hours before yet another transformation.

Hope woke up knowing it was Easter. She'd planned a special, chocolatey breakfast of French bread and spreads, and she'd bought her son not one, but two chocolate eggs to celebrate the day. They were having a bog roast dinner that evening, and she'd even invited her parents-in-law. Unfortunately, they'd turn the offer down, but Hope didn't feel bad about that. She'd made the effort, so that was what counted.

She showered and dressed early, bustling about the kitchen with a smile on her face as she hummed the tune to a song she'd heard on the radio. She turned the oven on for the par-baked rolls and set about brewing fresh coffee.

Remus was not in a good mood. He never was on the day of the full moon, but it was always worse when it fell on some sort of celebration. It was a day when people were supposed to be happy and cheery, and Remus couldn't be that, even if he wanted to. So, he rebelled, and did the opposite.

He rumbling of his stomach forced him out of bed earlier than usual, and he dressed in a half-asleep haze. There was only really one thing on his mind, only one thing he really felt like he wanted: meat.

"Happy Easter!" came Hope's exclamatory greeting as Remus entered the kitchen. Remus didn't even bother to grumble in response as he scoured the contents of the fridge. "I thought we'd have a special Easter breakfast today," Hope explained. "I've got some of those rolls you like in the oven, and a baguette to cut up. I've bought us lots of spreads."

"Oh," Remus said with a frown. "I kind of wanted bacon. I'm in the mood for meat."

Hope smiled. "Oh, that's no problem. I'll put a pan on. Would you mind getting it out of the fridge for me?"

She began to bustle about in the pan cupboard straight away. Remus did as he was bid, grateful that he didn't seem to have to play nice today.

They descended into silence as Hope cooked and Remus nursed a coffee; a quiet broken only by the muffled shuffling of Lyall Lupin as he got ready upstairs.

"We bought you two Easter eggs this year, Remus," Hope began to babble. "I'll fetch them once we've eaten. I know how you like your chocolate. Oh, I invited your grandparents for dinner tonight, too, but they can't make it, unfortunately. It's a shame; I know they miss you when you're at school. But they said they had other plans," she told him.

Remus snorted in derision. "Of course they did."

"Don't be mean about your grandparents, Remus. Whatever do you mean, anyway?" she asked, a look of genuine confusion on her face.

"Whether they miss me or not, mum, they're terrified of me," Remus explained with a shrug.

"Nonsense."

"Mum, it's the full moon. They'd never come tonight, even if it was Christmas."

"The moon's got nothing to do with it," Hope dismissed.

"Of course it does, mum. Who would you invite them on the full moon, anyway? Did you want to put them in danger? I know you don't get on with Grandma, but that's a bit extreme," Remus spat, the innate anger of the wolf within him mixing with his frustration at his mother's behaviour.

"How dare you suggest such a thing! Remus, I invited them because they're family, and it's Easter. Why else would I invite them? I didn't even know when the full moon was!" Hope defended.

"And that's the problem, mum. You don't think. I'm sorry I'm a werewolf, okay? I'm sorry I'm not the son you were promised, but you can't go on pretending I'm still him. You can't make believe all the bad stuff away. You just can't, okay? Yes, it's Easter. But it's also the full moon. Stop pretending it isn't."

Remus stayed where he was sat, avoiding the sight of shock on his mother's face. He knew it was a little out of the blue, but it was also a long time coming. Tomorrow, he might feel differently, but for today at least, he would not apologise for what he'd said. He'd only told the truth, after all.


	2. The Son Who Tried

**Written for:  
Mother's Day Event** at Hogwarts  
 **Words:** 483  
 **AN:** This piece may be submitted to further challenges and competitions retrospectively. Unfortunately, I don't have the time to work through this piece now before the Mother's Day event deadline.

* * *

 **The Son Who Tried**

 _July, 1977_

"Morning, Peter," Wendy greeted her son from the kitchen table.

Peter shuffled in bleary-eyed, in his favourite jeans and jumper.

"Morning, mum. What've we got for breakfast?" he asked as he headed to the kettle.

"There's a loaf of bread on the side there. I think there's still some jam left in the fridge, too. Or there's some cornflakes in the cupboard. I bought them yesterday. Oh, I might have to pop out for some milk, though," she added as an afterthought before reaching into her pocket for her coin purse.

"No, no, don't worry about it. Toast is fine," Peter returned with a wave of his hand and a smile. Wendy paused for just a moment, as if checking whether or not Peter meant what he said, before putting her purse back away.

Peter took a couple of slices of bread out of the packet and placed them in the old toaster before pulling a cup out of the cupboard for his morning tea.

"Have we got enough milk for this?" Peter asked, gesturing to his cup.

"Oh, we've got enough for drinks," Wendy assured her son.

Peter made the rest of his breakfast in silence before joining his mother at the table to eat. As he did so, he looked up at her and paused. It struck him all of a sudden that his mother was old. He'd never really thought of his mother as being old before. He'd never seen it in her. It was… odd.

He wondered when it had happened. Had she grown old over the last year, while he'd been at school? He'd been home for a fortnight, surely he'd have noticed. Had she aged over the last two weeks? That seemed far too sudden. Maybe she was just a little ill, under the weather. Maybe she'd slept badly. Surely that was it.

"How are you feeling, mum?" he risked asking, hoping she didn't read into his question. He knew how quickly she could close off.

"Oh, don't worry about me. I'm just fine, Peter. The same as ever," she said with a smile that was too wide, in a voice that was too cheerful.

"Are you sure?" he asked. "You look a bit tired."

"Bad night, that's all. Your dad's snoring. Don't you worry yourself about me. Eat up. I'm making soup for lunch," she replied.

She picked up the cup of tea she'd been nursing and finished what was left, making to stand immediately. As if to prove her point, she began to pull the potatoes out of the cupboard before fishing around in the fridge for the rest of their vegetables, preparing to make lunch.

Peter held back a sigh. He wasn't satisfied. He knew she was lying. But he just didn't know how to help. He didn't have a clue. He was lost with his own mother. He felt like a terrible son.


	3. The Son Who Failed

**Written for:  
Mother's Day Event** at Hogwarts  
 **Words:** 326  
 **AN:** This piece may be submitted to further challenges and competitions retrospectively. Unfortunately, I don't have the time to work through this piece now before the Mother's Day event deadline.

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 **The Son Who Failed**

 _August, 1977_

Sirius spent a lot of time in and around Diagon Alley now he lived on his own in London, and that came with its highlights and downsides.

On one hand, he could come and go when he pleased, people-watch to his heart's content and drink as much Firewhiskey as he wanted to in peace. On the other hand, he bumped into a lot of people he didn't particularly want to bump into, and that included his mother.

Casually strolling down the street, Sirius didn't see the two of them at first: they saw him. Or, at least, his mother saw him. They were walking towards the door of Quality Quidditch Supplies, no doubt looking for an upgrade for Regulus's broom. Sirius was on his way to Fortescue's.

"That's one thing I hate about Diagon Alley. You get all sorts of scum," Sirius overheard; an unmistakeable voice with its usual derision cut through the crowds like a bullet.

His head whipped around, looking for the source, and his eyes fixed on the pair. Regulus with his head fixed down, avoiding the situation, while Walburga looked straight at Sirius.

"It's the best place in England for spotting the last face on earth you want to see," Sirius couldn't help but spit back, an unkind smile gracing his features as his veins began to simmer.

"Respect your elders, boy. You never learned a damn thing," Walburga chastised.

"Guess you weren't much of a teacher." The three of them had all stopped walking now, but Regulus was feigning disinterest.

"You were a failure of a son."

"You were never a mother."

Walburga took a shallow breath, ready for her next retort, but a hand found its way onto her arm and she paused. She looked at her younger son with puzzlement.

"Enough, mum. He's not worth it," Regulus breathed, weary.

Walburga lifted her head. "Quite right," she agreed.

Without another glance at her first born, she continued on her way.


	4. The Son She Missed

**Written for:  
Mother's Day Event** at Hogwarts  
 **Words:** 941  
 **AN:** This piece may be submitted to further challenges and competitions retrospectively. Unfortunately, I don't have the time to work through this piece now before the Mother's Day event deadline.

* * *

 **The Son She Missed**

 _December, 1977_

Euphemia loved that her son went to Hogwarts. He was happy there, and he was growing up. She felt proud watching his time unfold. He was Head Boy now, and Captain of the Quidditch Team, with wonderful friends and grades worth bragging about. He was doing so well, she knew; he had everything she'd ever dreamed of for him. It wouldn't be long now until he was out in the real world, and Euphemia both feared and looked forward to that day. But for now, he was at Hogwarts, and he was safe.

Euphemia loved that her son went to Hogwarts, but she missed him. She'd long since given up her career to look after James and had never quite managed to get back in the saddle. Hobbies and interests, ill health, and looking after house and home all seemed to take priority. Her husband was wonderful, of course, and encouraged her in all of her whims and endeavours, but he was busy at all hours with his own work. When James was at school, Euphemia often found herself in a big house with hours of time to kill. There were times when it didn't feel much like a life.

She learnt that it was worse in January that any other time of year, after the excitement and sense of purpose of Christmas had been put to bed. It was only December now, and she was waiting for her son to make it home for the holidays, but she was already dreading the ending.

She'd wanted to meet him at King's Cross Station like she'd done every year, but he hadn't seen the point. He'd thought it a waste of her time now he was old enough to Apparate. He could get himself home without worrying her. It felt silly to tell him she wanted to be there.

He was late, of course. The Hogwart's Express pulled in at around six o'clock, and it was almost seven now. She didn't know where he was, but she knew who he'd be with. Those four boys were inseparable both in school and out of it. But she knew her son; he'd make his way home when his belly commanded him to. Dinner was being kept warm, and there was more than enough - she was half-expecting one of his friends to appear with him. It certainly wouldn't have been unusual.

It was ten minutes after seven when she heard the front door. She sat in the front parlour with the door open so she turned her head to look. She didn't hear any voices or laughter, which made her think it was just him.

"Just taking my things up!" a voice called out before heavy footfalls raced up the staircase. When James walked into the parlour a few minutes later, he'd taken off his shoes and coat and relaxed. He looked at her with a smile as he ruffled up his hair - a habit he'd developed as a toddler whenever he felt sleepy.

"Hi, mum," he mumbled as he plopped himself down on the couch.

"Hello. How was school?" Euphemia asked with a warm smile.

"Horrible. There's way too much homework. I've had to spend time in the _library_ \- of all the places!" he moaned, a hint of amusement in his eyes. He'd been here five minutes and he was goading her already, just like old times.

Euphemia just rolled her eyes, not rising to the bait. She knew his grades were good; she wasn't worried.

"And how are Sirius, Remus and Peter? What have you been up to since you got off the train?" she asked, interested. Sirius, especially, she felt partially responsible for. It was only a year ago that the boy had still been living with them, after all.

"They're same as ever. Remus has a girlfriend, now," James grinned. "We went to decorate Sirius's flat for Christmas. He said he didn't appreciate it, but I think he did."

"Oh, that's nice of you. Have you invited him over for Christmas dinner?"

"No, I suggested he spend quality time with his own parents instead." There was a slight pause before James gave his true answer. "He'll be here on Christmas Eve."

"And what about you," she prompted, "have you got yourself a girlfriend yet?"

James looked away and cleared his throat. "So, what time's dinner?"

Euphemia ignored the misdirection. "A boyfriend?"

"Yes, three. We're all very happy together," he droned.

"James."

"What?" he asked. Euphemia just looked at him with a raised eyebrow. He never avoided questions unless there was something worth saying. He sighed and looked away again, as if suddenly shy. "I don't know. There is a girl, but I don't think she's my girlfriend yet. It's just sort of complicated," he admitted.

"Is this the girl with red hair? The one you talked about in second year? The one Sirius always teased you about?" Euphemia asked, a smile forming on her face as she guessed his answer.

"Maybe," he muttered, the tips of his ears turning red.

Euphemia was going to say something else; she had a tease waiting on the tip of her tongue. But she saw the uncomfortable look on her son's face, and something made her think better of it. The more she said about it, the more her son would close off to her. She knew that. It was a basic rule of parenting. Less than half an hour ago, she'd been upset at the thought of these two weeks being so short. That wasn't the way to make the most of the time she had.

"Let's go see about dinner," she said instead.


End file.
